Worth The Slugs
by sinfullysarcastic
Summary: 'For those three seconds, it was worth all the slugs.' Ron's thinking that maybe, just maybe, Hermione's 'thank you' makes up for everything that went wrong that day. Set during Chamber of Secrets. Romione.


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Okay, so this is my first shot at a Harry Potter fic and I apologize in advance if it's horrible. I've tried my best to keep them in character but I'm not used to writing for them, so I'd be really interested in some feedback.**

**Set during the Chamber of Secrets, after Draco calls Hermione a Mudblood.**

_Mudblood_.

To Ron, it's the foulest name in wizard history, it's a status disregarding of someone's personality. It's a label that absolutely no Muggle-born deserves, and that's coming from a pureblood himself.

It's too bad Draco Malfoy doesn't share the same view as him. But then again, they never really did, always clashing heads. Draco's always making fun of his lack of money and his secondhand supplies, and Ron can't really say much back, because honestly? Draco Malfoy has everything he could ever possibly want.

So maybe he's already riled. Maybe it's the word _mudblood _that sets him over the edge, maybe it's Hermione's and Harry's complete ignorance. Maybe it's the way Draco says it, the word lingering on his tongue, drawing out the syllables.

It's times like this Ron wishes his wand actually worked. If it did, _Draco _would be the one in Hagrid's hut vomiting slugs. If it did, _Draco _would be the one looking up at Harry and Hagrid talking, it would be _Draco _with Hermione's hand placed awkwardly on his back.

But it's not, and when the spell finally wears off, Harry decides to talk to Hagrid alone, sending Ron and Hermione off back to the castle. Ron scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and Hermione doesn't say anything either. They're a bit lost without Harry. There's not even anything to argue about, proving conversation difficult.

It's after a while that Ron can't take it anymore, "_Well_? Aren't you going to say _thank you_?"

Hermione looks taken aback and quirks an eyebrow, "And what exactly would I be saying thank you for? I never told you to try to cast a spell on him."

Ron pauses- she's right, of course, as usual. So annoyingly right. He decides to pipe up, "I was defending you!" He feels satisfied when Hermione quietens- she doesn't know how bad the name _mudblood _is, she wouldn't get it. She would never understand the surge of anger that flowed through him as he pulled out that broken wand of his, she would never understand how much of an insult that was. Not only to her, but to him too. Hermione was one of his best friends, though he would never admit it, and she was the brightest witch he knew. She didn't deserve being called that name. Nobody did.

"I suppose," she starts, ever so quietly, voice stiff and rid of the bossy tone it usually carries. "I suppose that I do _maybe _owe you a thank you-"

"_Maybe_?"

"-so thank you, Ron Weasley." It's obvious she's not used to saying this. She's usually the one receiving the thanks, smiling gracefully.

Ron snorts, obviously not satisfied, and Hermione looks elsewhere, not able to meet his eyes. She _did _say thank you, wasn't that enough? The two continue on, all the way inside Hogwarts and to the Gryffinder common room. Ron mutters the password- pig snout- and leads the way inside, where several people began patting his back sympathetically, having heard about how his spell backfired. Hermione stands in the corner, letting everybody's eyes wander over her, the poor girl called that supposed terrible name.

She would've gone up to her four poster bed, but there was a strange sense of guilt overwhelming her, so she just stayed there, watching people come over to Ron. _Mudblood _must've been a really foul name in the wizarding world if it caused so much commotion.

It was only when everyone else had retired to their respective beds and Harry had come in and bid them a goodnight did she finally approach Ron again. He looked tired and unhappy, even though he had been the center of attention for once, a rare occurrence being the youngest boy in the family.

"Ron-" she starts, playing with her fingers, wishing she didn't have to do this.

"Save it, Hermione," he commands, words harsh and sleepy.

"I really _am _grateful."

"'Course you are," Ron snorts, and she frowns. This should not be so hard, he's blowing everything out of proportion.

"You know, Ron, if you would quit acting like such a _child-_"

"Oh, _I'm_ the child?"

"Of course you're the child, Ron! You always are!"

He looks almost miffed and he crosses his arms, "Fine. Next time somebody calls you something like that, I won't do anything. Happy yet?" He's almost to the stairs and Hermione sighs before stomping after him, robe swishing at her ankles.

"Ron, _wait_!"

He turns sharply, "_What_?" And Hermione bites her lip in contemplation before finally leaning over shyly. She absolutely hates it when people are mad at her, it makes her feel useless. And she does actually value Ron's opinions to a certain degree- he's a tad childish but he is one of the important people in his life. She remembers how she felt when he got knocked out during wizard chess last year, and presses her lips to his cheek for a quick _one…two…three _seconds. When she pulls away, she looks down, hoping her bushy hair covers her face.

"_Thank you_," she says, sincerity shining in her voice. She steals a glance at his face, which is now the same shade as his hair. Hermione blushes as well, and Ron speaks in a timid voice, almost mumbling.

"It's nothing," he finally shrugs, ever so modest, and Hermione nods, that guilt lifting off her chest as she heads up the girl's dormitories.

What she doesn't know is that, that night, Ron Weasley doesn't sleep. What she doesn't know is that he stays up all night, hand pressed to his cheek in a daze, replaying that moment again and again.

For those three seconds, it was worth all the slugs.


End file.
